Revenge of the Prom Queen
by Muskie
Summary: A fundraising opportunity sets Cameron against House much to Cuddy's dismay and everyone else's confusion. HCam.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** If I owned House, I would toss my teaching certificates in the air and stop whimpering during "back to school" commercials.

To say that Lisa Cuddy was uptight today would be an understatement of mythic proportions. Not that she wasn't uptight everyday, but this morning people cleared a path when she walked by in a way that they normally reserved for the man she had in her scope at the moment. Several people let go of the breaths they had been holding as she ignored their presence and cut a path straight for Dr. House's office.

House noted her entrance but wasn't in the mood for her; Mario was getting creamed. Truth be told, the part of House that wasn't a complete misanthrope wanted to feel a little sorry for her. Unfortunately, that part wasn't as strong as part of him that was more than a little tired of her constant nagging about this particular subject. Hearing the same lecture for two weeks was wearing thin.

Before she could say the first word, he began to speak with forced calmness. "Yes, I know that losing Vogler's money was my fault. Yes, I know that this new guy who wants to give money to the hospital is just as if not more loaded than Vogler. And, yes, I know that you will fry my ass in oil if I screw up again."

She might have been relieved if he hadn't been using a rote, robotic voice for his speech. She might also have been impressed if he had actually looked at her instead of at his Gameboy. She would have even stayed quiet if he had stopped with her repeated threat to cook his ass. This was Greg House, though; he wasn't finished.

"If I may continue the theme of 'asses,' I would like to point out that Vogler was a giant and unethical pain in mine and yours, if you remember correctly. And, although I am not generally know for my sunny disposition, I have no plans to undermine your latest desperate attempt at fundraising."

Cuddy contemplated the cane hanging from the edge of House's desk and, not for the first time, wondered what kind of pain it could inflict. Then again, if she just took it away from him, he would be stuck in his office and she could keep Mr. O'Bryan from meeting him at all. Instead, she just told him the same thing she had been for the past thirteen days, "Just don't be yourself. Try to be human. Try to remember that you are a highly respected doctor with a highly respected team working under you."

Before he could make a snarky comment about his "highly respected team," she interrupted him.

"Please also remember that he will be here tomorrow morning at ten o'clock to meet you and discuss your department. He will also be in attendance at the annual charity gala, which is taking place on Friday." She shook her head in exasperated acknowledgement of the probable futility of her efforts. Still, she continued on. "Shave, comb your hair, and for God's sake, iron your shirt."

With that, she turned on her heel, and marched out into the hallway to try to inflict terror on someone who might actually be terrified of her.

House hit "pause" on the game, placed his leg on the desk and contemplated Cuddy's distress. He knew that this was important; he had a plan. He had been doing his research on O'Bryan and knew what would push this guy's ATM buttons. He realized that the funding of his department was shaky at best. If they could deal with several cases at once, they might actually make money for the hospital. Having approximately one case a week, though, tended to make it look like he and the ducklings didn't do much. Unlike the clinic, the Diagnostics department could only focus on one thing at a time. However, also unlike the clinic, Diagnostics didn't deal with stomach viruses and hangnails.

He was also very aware that the future employment of that "highly respected team" of his depended on this Mr. O'Bryan. Not that they couldn't get jobs elsewhere, but, well, he thought he did a pretty good job of putting together this particular group. They each had their own special ways of annoying the hell out of him, but they did a good job.

Not that he would _ever_ tell them that.

With that thought, he looked up as the prettiest member of that hand-picked team walked in. Her methods of annoying him were a little different than Chase and Foreman's, and the annoyance generally took a much different form. He didn't want to throttle her so much as haul her off to some clichéd deserted island. She said something to him, but his mind was on sunshine and sea air and suntan lotion.

"Dr. House?" Allison Cameron repeated for the third time. God, she hated it when he intentionally ignored her. Right now, he was staring at her with a weird grin on his face that made her squirm. She hated that, too. He played with her for kicks and giggles, and she would like nothing more than to thrash him with that cane.

She forced herself to remember why she was there to talk to him. "Dr. House? Could you at least pretend for a second that you're paying attention to me? I have a question about these clinic hours."

"Hmmm? Sorry, caught up in a dream about drinks with umbrellas and grass huts. What do you want?"

Allison shook her head to clear out the confusion and repeated, "Why have you scheduled me for the clinic all day tomorrow?"

"You lost the bet."

"Huh…?"

"The bet. You know. You thought the girl just had mono. Mutt and Jeff and I had a different idea. You rashly promised to do all our hours one day if we were right. You lost. We won. You're doing our hours tomorrow."

She took half a sigh, cleared her throat, and dragged her eyes away from that cane as she tried again, "Let me rephrase that. Why have you scheduled me for clinic hours all day _tomorrow_ when Mr. O'Bryan expects to meet with all of us?"

"You're not willing to uphold your end of the bet? You know what they do to people in Jersey who don't pay up?"

"I am more than willing to pay up. I just think you might want to have me there tomorrow in the meeting."

"Not particularly."

"Pardon me?"

"You stay in the clinic. The boys and I will deal with this guy." This was really going to piss her off. Served her right for stepping out of his fantasy.

"You and the boys? What the hell am I?"

"Well, certainly not a boy…"

"Not the point. Why shouldn't I be in there just like the rest of you?" Allison felt a monstrous need to pummel him as she anticipated his response. She could see what was coming and if she wasn't arrested for assault when he was done, it would be a miracle.

"I've been doing research on this guy. He's a world-class prick who thinks nothing of bulldozing anyone and everyone who is in his way. I don't think that parading you and all your insistence that the world is a fluffy place full of hidden decency is really the best way to go."

"Oh, for God's…Listen, first of all, I deal with you all day. How much different can this guy be? I am also just as much a part of this department as the 'boys' are. I cannot believe that you would actually cut me out of this because I happen to see some good in people where you can't."

Assault and battery? Attempted murder? Manslaughter? She hadn't been this mad at him in a really long time. Not since she threatened to quit when Vogler started all his crap had she seriously considered inflicting damage. He was making no sense whatsoever. He had to be messing with her. Either that or he was smoking something while he popped painkillers.

"You can't seriously think that I am going to stay in that clinic like some Candy Striper while you big bad doctors talk to the evil billionaire."

"I seriously do think that. Just because this guy is coming in tomorrow doesn't mean that we don't have to do our jobs. People still get sick even in the presence of billionaires. You lost a bet. The clinic needs to be staffed. I need to keep Cuddy off my ass, which means you are working in the clinic." This was getting tricky. She knew that he couldn't care less about the clinic hours.

Allison took a moment to collect herself. House had stood up during his speech and was now standing less than two feet in front of her. Punching him in his wounded thigh? Would anyone blame her?

"What if I refuse?"

"l'll fire you."

"You couldn't fire me when you had the chance the last time. What makes you think you can do it now?"

Thank God she had brothers who were all much taller and meaner than her. That look he was giving her as he loomed over her would have sent her running otherwise. When he didn't answer, she decided to take a different approach.

She calmed her breathing and stated, "I'm not sure what you're up to, but I'm going to pretend that you have a logical argument. You don't – and I think you know that – but let's pretend. Here's another way of looking at this. What if this guy is sick and tired of pissing contests with other manly men? What if, for once he got to deal with someone who actually has some social skills and is not interested in whipping out a tape measure? Don't you think it would be beneficial to have me around?"

Allison had moved toward the door connecting their offices during that speech. Despite her brothers, she felt braver not standing right there where he could stare her down so easily.

"I hardly think the prom queen act is going to get this guy to fold."

"You clearly have had little experience with prom queens." She held up her hand to stop the inevitable nasty comment that was headed her way. "You know, I think you _boys_ should go ahead and try to impress this guy. See how much money you can get off him. But, I have another wager for you."

He raised his eyebrows. She was buying into this?

"I bet a whole week of clinic duty that you will come running to me for help. This guy isn't going to be impressed with your macho crap any more than I am. Not only that, but you at a fundraising gala makes me laugh. You will need me, the 'Prom Queen,' to close this deal with him, and you'll have to admit it because if you screw up this chance for money, well, let's just say that I've heard Cuddy's plans for you."

This was going to be fun. He couldn't resist goading her some more. "Such naiveté in one so young should be refreshing, Dr. Cameron. In you, it's just pathetic. But, in the interest of being right, it's a deal."

Allison gave a quick nod. "Fine." She continued through the doorway, through the meeting room, and out into the hallway.

House limped back to his desk and popped a Vicodin. She was getting too good at this. If he wasn't careful, not only would she become a very tough opponent, but he might find himself unwilling to let her walk out the office door. That trip to the island was starting to sound a little too appealing.

He shook his head much like she had earlier. He had to get back into the correct mindset. He saw Foreman and Chase walk into the conference room, and then it struck him that he had just let two people get the last word. He decided to pick a fight with them to bring his average back up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, but I am saving my pennies for the DVD set. Perhaps there will be a golden ticket inside…

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews! This is my first attempt and your input makes me smile.

Allison Cameron's parents had not wanted her to become a doctor. If she wouldn't get married and give them grandchildren, they would have preferred a teacher or a librarian. They might have been able to handle a nurse, too, if it weren't for the sorts of things that nurses were expected to deal with. A receptionist in the doctor's office – that was the kind of medical profession they could see for their daughter.

They were not the most forward thinking people on the planet.

The problem was that their pretty and damned intelligent daughter was not content with that. The professions her parents had suggested were perfectly fine, certainly nothing to be ashamed of, but Allison wanted to be a doctor.

She had asked for a toy doctor's kit when she was four and had organized a tour of the local hospital for her Girl Scout troop when she was eleven. At fourteen she bought a second-hand copy of Grey's Anatomy. (Her mother went into hysterics when she found that in her desk.) In high school she took all the advanced science courses and refused to look at anything but the best pre-med programs in the country.

Her brothers caused problems by doing the things that their parents expected boys to do. They played sports and asked for racetracks and GI Joes for Christmas. They'd also chosen appropriate careers: farmer, mechanic, lawyer, and teacher/coach. Her parents hadn't understood why Allison couldn't follow their lead.

So, to satisfy her parents she had stayed in the dance and piano lessons she had taken from the age of five. She'd tried out for cheerleading and made it, but only because she was small enough to be tossed around and to climb to the top of pyramids. She had dated occasionally, but she had never been one of the serial daters that a few of her friends had been. Everybody thought she was pretty, but nobody thought she was much more than a really nice, really brainy girl.

It had been a shock to her but a thrill to her mother when Allison had been voted prom queen in her senior year. She definitely was not what one would call a leading contender; apparently, however, the senior class had had a small moment of maturity and decided to choose someone they liked rather than someone who fulfilled the prom queen stereotype. It still annoyed the crap out of Allison that her mother had found the tiara more exciting than the Valedictorian medal she got to wear at graduation.

At the beginning of her undergraduate years, Mr. and Mrs. Cameron kept hoping that Allison would see reason and put all those science courses toward a teaching certificate. When she was twenty, though, they threw their hands up in the air and declared that they didn't know what to do with her anymore. If she wanted to spend her life with sick people, then so be it.

Allison didn't appreciate that comment considering that she was about to marry a man whom both she and they knew was sick, which she told them. They yelled. She yelled. They left, and she cried because that was what she did when she was angry.

Now here she was sitting at her computer in her apartment, angry again. She was angry because House was throwing the stupid tiara in her face again. He wasn't acknowledging her abilities and her education; hell, he wasn't going to acknowledge her at all tomorrow, but he was more than willing to use her like window dressing if it came down to it.

"Moron," she whispered to herself, and for once she wasn't talking about herself. He was behaving like an idiot, and she was dealing with it in a way that was much more effective than tears. She was using her brain. She was not going to think at all about the emotional garbage that she had put herself through when it came to him, she was only going to focus on winning that bet.

It might have been wise to have gone to Cuddy and told her about this…this… well, whatever it was because she supposed Cuddy could have forced House to let Allison sit in on the meeting. She would have felt like a tattletale, though. She also wanted to watch from a safe distance when Cuddy found out.

She had one other reason not to tell Cuddy. She _knew_ House was up to something. He may have been a moron but he wasn't a complete moron. He knew better than to play games with funding, especially after the last fiasco he caused, and Allison wanted to figure out what he was doing. She wanted to beat him at his own game. She wanted to throw it in his face when he was wrong, and she wanted to visit him every day in the stupid clinic – just to rub it in some more. She was tired of his attitude with her. If he was going to be the boy who pulled the girl's hair, she was going to be the girl who kicked the boy in the shins.

She grinned. She hadn't felt this fired up since her mother told her that she wouldn't need to worry about being Valedictorian anymore since she had snagged the tiara. Apparently all a girl needed in life was a tiara to pull out at dinner parties.

The tiara was in a box in storage, but the internet was right in front of her and a much better weapon in her battle. Allison looked at the computer screen and the list of hits for "Donald O'Bryan." The billionaire certainly had a lot of coverage, which didn't surprise Allison much. What surprised her was how many of those hits had nothing to do with charity work. She would have figured that a guy like him would be giving scads of money to different organizations for taxes and publicity.

She kept paging down, but couldn't quite figure out what the deal was. She stood up and stretched and went to the bathroom to find the bottle of eye drops she kept for long hours at the computer and the times when she did let herself have a good cry.

When she got back, she cracked her neck and looked at her notes. She smiled a bit at the sight of them. Very organized and neat. Very detailed. What a geek. She laughed at herself and went back to the screen. She called up pictures of O'Bryan out of curiosity. Looking at the thumbprints, she came to a shot of him and his wife at a ribbon cutting ceremony at a new preschool he had funded.

"Apparently when he does give money, he gives big," she thought. She found another charity function picture of him and his wife. She was speaking at a podium while he stood next to her.

Allison looked over at the biographical notes she had taken. Happily married for well over thirty years. Four daughters, all professionals who either had or were working on advanced degrees. No sons.

Another picture showed his wife and a daughter at some sort of ceremony but no sign of O'Bryan himself.

"So the women are the faces of his charitable work. This just makes House look more stupid," she said aloud to no one, "and it makes me more confused." She growled a word that would have given her mother a stroke and threw her pencil across the room.

OOOO

Meanwhile, at a bar near the hospital…

"I don't get it," James Wilson said for the third time. "What are you trying to do? Destroy your department? Find out if Cuddy is serious about the whole oil thing?"

House waved down the bartender.

Wilson continued, "You realize, of course, that Cameron may very well be completely right about this guy? What would it hurt to have her around? I don't get it." He shook his head. "Do you also realize that if we lose this money, or rather if you lose this money, it will be the entire hospital that will suffer?"

House finally answered. "I'm going to ignore that you are basically repeating the same crap that Cuddy has been harping on for the past two weeks, but what makes you think that Foreman and Chase and I can't handle this? I realize that my glorious presence alone would probably send O'Bryan running, but those two aren't nearly as bad as I am."

Wilson snorted, "No, not nearly."

"Perhaps I'm just trying to protect sweet little Cameron from having more angst in her life."

Wilson snorted again. "You're the cause of a good deal of the angst in her life at the moment. I doubt this helps."

"Maybe I think it would be a good experience for Tweedle Dee and his sidekick. After all, they are supposed to be learning something, aren't they?"

"You're an idiot."

"I'm buying your beer."

"You're still an idiot."

"I know what I'm doing, and no more beer for you."

Wilson paused and looked at his friend. "So, what happens if she's right and you're wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are two things here I don't think you've considered. One is that you are going to have to admit you were wrong by asking her for help. I don't think that will be especially fun for you. The second is that you will have to live up to your end of the bet and do her clinic hours."

House interrupted, "I won't do her hours, Foreman and Chase will."

"Yeah, sure they will. They just love doing favors for you."

"I'll make their lives miserable if they don't."

"Don't you already strive for that?"

"Of course, but I'll just double my efforts and make them glad for some extra time away from me. Aren't you supposed to be buying the beer now?"

Wilson motion to the bartender for two drinks. "I'll concede that you are capable of making them that miserable, but you are ignoring the other problem."

House looked at Wilson and took the beer from the waitress. "What problem?"

"What are you going to when you have to go crawling to Cameron? And, my friend, she will make you crawl."

House didn't respond. He just looked at the beer.

"So you know what you're doing, but you haven't planned that far in advance, huh?" Wilson goaded. "Take it from someone who has been in your boat, you are in for some serious misery here. You'd better come up with something because I have a feeling that under her cute and 'sweet' exterior, there is a pissed off female capable of all sorts of horrific things, and I would bet that she has a list of them with your name right at the top." He shivered for emphasis.

House had seen glimpses of that monster, only glimpses, but he had seen enough to know that she could do some damage. And, besides, she was female. Females could do all sorts of damage. Cameron had definitely shown him more than once that she could bite when she got riled up. He grinned at that thought. He wondered if it would soothe things if he told her she was beautiful when she was angry. Probably not, but it would be good ammo to save for some time when he needed her to be angry.

He really hadn't planned that far in advance; he realized that he may actually have to say something like, "I was wrong" to Cameron, but he didn't want to dwell on that now. His leg was starting to ache from sitting on the bar stool and he didn't need anymore hounding from Wilson.

He just looked back at Wilson and repeated, "I know what I'm doing," threw some money on the bar and walked out.

"No you don't," said Wilson with a grin on his face.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Do we really have to do this every time? Anyway, I don't own House. If I did, I think I'd have Stephen Fry guest star. Wouldn't that be a hoot?

**A/N:** Thank you for the reviews. I'm sure you all know how great it is to read them. I do hope to get this done before the end of the week because once school starts, my free time is pretty much nonexistent. Thanks for sticking with it.

OOOO

Despite Lisa Cuddy's warnings, Greg House had not shaved, combed his hair, or ironed his shirt. In fact, he did not look at all like a well-rested man, and he could've stood to use some of Cameron's eye drops. He hadn't slept well and when he did sleep, he dreamed that Cuddy and Cameron were prancing around a big cauldron of bubbling vegetable oil. Cuddy had looked like one of the witches from Macbeth, and Cameron had looked like, well, like someone who belonged on that bloody tropical island lying next to him under an umbrella.

He made a disgusted noise and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked at his desk and noticed, again, that there was only a pile of mail that definitely had not been sorted. There was no coffee. The coffee pot was not even perking or dripping or whatever the hell it was supposed to be doing at this time of the morning. She was here; he had seen her car in the garage. Clearly she was acting out her anger in the most juvenile way possible.

He picked up his tennis ball and whiffed it at the office window. He was aiming for that very tiny, annoyingly reasonable voice in his head that had been reminding him that he was the one acting like a juvenile. This was the same voice that thought he should give Cuddy a break. It had started in on him yesterday by laughingly telling him that tropical island-themed daydreams were very trite and overdone. It had followed him to the bar and had bitched at him and agreed with Wilson. Then it had kept him up most of the night whispering that Cameron was right, that he had no logical argument for keeping her out of this meeting, that he was only doing this to piss her off. He had tried to remind that little voice that if he pissed her off enough, she would stay away from him and he wouldn't have to deal with her. It seemed logical to him and her absence would stop the trite and overdone daydreams – maybe. Greg House did not generally second guess himself; it was not a feeling he liked at all.

He threw the ball one more time, trying harder to bean the little voice. Chase had just walked in the conference room unfortunately, and if it hadn't been for the window, the young doctor would have been beaned himself. The look Chase shot at House bordered on "I'll be calling the call the psych floor now," but then he scrambled out as he saw the ball fly toward the window again.

House snorted in contempt and suddenly the logical voice was replaced by the much louder, unshaven, uncombed, unironed, and misanthropic voice that he was more comfortable with. Cameron needed to toughen up. She needed some backbone. She needed to learn how to fight against egotistical bastards. Doctors who were at the tops of their fields were not known for being willing to step aside politely and let someone else take the glory. They were rude and proud and arrogant (a fact that he could personally attest to). She was talented and had the potential to climb up to their level, but she would get knocked on her pretty ass if she couldn't knock them down first. If she wanted to be in on this meeting then she should damn well figure out how to do that.

So, basically, he was doing her two favors, the grumpy voice told him. He was teaching her a lesson and keeping her mad at him and, therefore, away from him. The reasonable voice gasped for air once more and said, in a voice that sounded remarkably like Cameron's, "That's pathetic."

He allowed the bullying voice to punch on the other one for a moment as he looked back on the mess he had made. Originally, he had had no intention of keeping Cameron out of the meeting. He knew her worth, even when she didn't. He had only signed her up for the clinic to see her get steamed. She was an easy target. Chase would have run to Cuddy about the clinic hours first, which would have ended the fun too soon. Foreman would have argued just like House would have argued when he was young and fighting older, arrogant doctors. That would have been too much like looking into a fifteen year-old mirror. Definitely no fun. That left, as usual, Cameron, who seemed to beg for him to pick on her. He had planned to egg her on about the hours for a while, then admit in his best nasty tone that he was only yanking her chain. He hadn't lied to Cuddy when he told her that he had no intention of sabotaging the meeting. Hell, he had even thought about wearing his lab coat.

The problem was that he got a little too caught up in the fun of baiting Cameron to pay attention to his mouth. And it wasn't until he was driving home from the bar the night before that he started paying attention to what he had done. Now he was stuck. The little voice said, "maybe you could go find her and fix this." Yeah, right. What could he possibly do? Say, "I'm sorry. I was being an ass. You were right. I was wrong. Please be ready in an hour and thirty-two minutes to wow the billionaire?" And then, "By the way, I'll be taking your clinic hours first thing Monday morning." Not a tempting option. He was stubborn, arrogant, and proud, and he was just going to have to hope that he and Foreman and Chase could schmooze Donald O'Bryan without Cameron's help. If they didn't get the money… Well, God help him if Cuddy ever found out about this bet. She'd haul him down to the cafeteria and stuff him in the fryer before anyone could save him. Not that anyone would want to save him since, as Wilson had pointed out the night before, the whole hospital would be affected by his actions.

He popped a couple of Vicodin and thought that maybe he should dig out that lab coat.

OOOO

All he really needed to do was admit that he had been an ass, Cameron thought as she reached for the large band-aid on the leg in front of her. She would gloat, no doubt about that, but she would go to the meeting and try her best to get Mr. O'Bryan to hand over some money. As soon as the meeting was over, she would run to the clinic and exchange her name for his in her time slots. She grinned.

A shriek shot out of the sixteen year-old who was sitting on the exam table in front of her. That jerked her back into the moment and she looked at him and then down at his leg, which was just hairy enough to lose hair when an adhesive was ripped off it.

"Sorry about that. The faster the better, though," she said. Then she looked at the wound that had been hidden by the plastic strip. "Tell me again what happened?"

The boy's mother spoke up. "He decided to see what would happen when he touched hot metal to his skin." The poor woman looked like she was going to get good and drunk as soon as her son turned eighteen.

Allison raised her eyebrows and the woman continued, "Yes, he reached sixteen, but he hadn't figured that one out yet." She glared at her son from as far across the room as possible, tapping her foot, with her arms crossed and her fists locked under her elbows, probably for his protection. She looked worn out, like a person who tried really hard to understand the male species but could only get to "Huh?"

Allison grimaced and nodded in understanding. "My four brothers never quite figured out simple things like that until they were well into their twenties. I'm still not sure they get it." She turned to the boy, "That doesn't make it any less stupid though. Looks to me like your metal of choice was a… paperclip?" She sighed. "Tell me what you did. Don't make your mother do it."

"My lab partner dared me. I heated up the paperclip over the burner in chem lab and stuck it to my skin." He had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Hmph. Well, it's not infected, but it is a pretty good burn. He'll need to keep antibacterial ointment on it and keep it covered for a while." She turned to the boy again. "The real fun is that for the rest of your life, you're going to have a lovely paperclip-shaped scar on your leg. No need for a tattoo now." She put more salve on it herself and covered it back up. "Now do your mother a favor and don't take any more dares. She might let you make it to seventeen."

Allison stood up from her stool and led the pair out of the exam room and then headed to the counter to give the nurse the boy's file.

"Why are you here?" A voice demanded from her left.

Allison jumped and looked over at Dr. Cuddy who was approaching very quickly.

"Um, working in the clinic?" Allison's stomach jumped. She was _not_ going to tell Cuddy what was going on.

"Mr. O'Bryan is meeting with your department in just over an hour. You realize that don't you?" Cuddy demanded. She had a slightly wild look in her eyes that Cameron was more than a little afraid of.

"Yes, I do realize that," she replied carefully.

"Ten o'clock." Cuddy said succinctly.

"Ten o'clock." Allison repeated.

"Good." And Cuddy walked away.

"Great," Allison said on a sigh and snatched up the next file. She was going to murder House, but she was going to win this bet first. No, she was going to win the bet, he was going to work her clinic hours next week, and _then_ she would murder him.

OOOO

"Where's Cameron?" Asked Eric Foreman as House walked in the conference room just before ten o'clock. He folded up his newspaper and waited for an answer, which was not quick in coming.

"She's not going to be here," House eventually stated. He went towards the coffee pot – the coffee pot _he_ had finally started up.

"Is she sick?"

House sighed. "If I say yes, will you stop asking questions?" Where was the damned sugar? He hated it when she wasn't around to fix his coffee.

"No, I'd ask you what's wrong with her, but I'm assuming from your answer that she isn't sick." He pushed the paper out of the way and looked at Chase who shrugged.

"I saw her in the clinic a little while ago," said Chase.

"Well, at least you didn't make her quit again." Foreman gave House that look that clearly said that he wasn't backing down without an actual answer.

"First of all, I didn't make her quit. She chose to quit. And secondly, Cameron and I … made an agreement that she would work in the clinic today and that the three of us," he waved his cane around the table, "would handle Mr. O'Bryan."

"You 'made an agreement?'" Eric's eyes were completely disbelieving. He closed them for a second as if to force his boss' response into his head. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said." He looked at both young men who were showing no signs of buying it. "Look, I know what I'm doing here." He punctuated the statement by slamming his cane on the table.

"Obviously," mumbled Chase. It no longer startled any of them when he slammed the cane down or poked them or knocked beakers out of their hands. The funny thing about it was that Chase and his comrades had learned to read the cane's actions and interpret House's moods or intentions. When they were drinking and bitching about work, Foreman would call the cane an "extension of House's language process" and swore that he was going to write a paper on it some day. Cameron swore she was going to paint it pink and superglue it to his hand. Chase swore he was going to burn it.

This particular cane slam had indicated that House was pissed _and_ uncomfortable about something. It had not been violent enough just to be pissed. It had slowed a bit on the downswing and didn't hit the table nearly as hard as it might have. It was very similar to the times that House had made an incorrect diagnosis and didn't want to have to admit it.

Chase looked up at Foreman who nodded in silent acknowledgement that something was wrong. "So what are you doing?"

"Cameron will help if she is needed."

Foreman started to protest, but House loudly interrupted him. "And don't remind me that she is part of this department. I already know that." He cut him off again with another cane slam – still a bit hesitant. "And don't ask me if I am aware of what is at stake here because I am very aware of it." The cane made a half-hearted attempt at slamming but did not serve to make the two younger doctors feel any better about whatever was going on. All three men were silent for just a moment as they looked at the thing lying there on the table.

"Good afternoon, gentleman. Please tell me that this is not the Diagnostics Department."

All three doctors started and turned toward the door. Donald O'Bryan certainly knew how to make an entrance.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own House. Nothing's changed there.

**A/N:** This is the second to the last chapter, and it's a little longer than the others. I probably won't be able to post the last chapter for a couple of days. Real life is getting in the way. Thanks, though, for sticking with this, and thank you so much for the kind and enthusiastic reviews.

OOOO

Over two hours after Donald O'Bryan's ill-timed appearance in the Diagnostic Department's conference room, he was finally gone. In his wake he had left a mess. There were charts – some of them torn into tiny pieces – with department facts and figures littering the table top along with splashes of coffee and sugar granules. The white board was covered with indecipherable doctor and billionaire scratchings. The window was wide open because it had gotten rather hot in there and the breeze was not helping to straighten things any.

The real mess, though, was to be found in Dr. House's office next door. Not that the battle had carried on to that location, but the three doctors who had been involved in the fray had collapsed in lumps around the room. The sight was really very pathetic. Thankfully, one of them had thought to close the blinds so that no one could see them post-defeat.

"That was awful." It didn't matter which one said it. It had been awful. O'Bryan had proven to be just as much a prick as House had told Cameron, and in the tradition of people who like to mess with others just for fun, he had enjoyed seeing the three doctors squirm. Actually, by the end of the "meeting" they hadn't been squirming so much as twitching. It had become very apparent that O'Bryan knew everything about the department already, but he still poked and prodded and generally pissed the three other men off. All three of the doctors, well, especially the two younger ones, were contemplating the possibility of karma. They just didn't have the energy to say anything.

Foreman was the first to ask, "What are we going to do?" He was laying across the upholstered chair across from House's desk. He was massaging his temples and trying to ward off what he was pretty sure was the first migraine he had had since his internship. "There is no way he is going to give the hospital money."

"He hated us," agreed Chase. "God, he walked in hating us. Didn't even give us a chance." He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the glass wall with the trashed conference room at his back. He had removed his (ugly) tie and lab coat. They were lying somewhere on one of the bookshelves, but he hadn't really paid attention to where he had tossed them.

House was quietly inspecting his cane, which had an gouge in the wood that hadn't been there two hours earlier. He was fairly certain he had whacked it against something at one point but really couldn't remember when. He sighed and leaned back in his chair as he waited for the extra Vicodin to kick in. When exactly, he mused, did an addict's drug of choice reach the "extra" stage?

"What do we do?" Foreman repeated.

House sighed again, very loudly, and dropped his head to his desk. "We call in the big guns," he grumbled.

OOOO

Allison Cameron had no idea what kind of carnage was being created in her department when she left the clinic for lunch at 11:15. All she knew was that if she had to deal with one more stupid male doing stupid things to his stupid body, she was going to look into becoming Catholic and joining a convent. One with no stupid priests.

After Paperclip Boy had been dragged away by his mother, Allison had seen a man with a really bad rash in a place that made it obvious that he had not been practicing abstinence when he contracted it. Then came the seventh grader who had been clothes-lined by some of his buddies and ended up with a lump on the back of his head. He and his friends had thought that was funny; his mother and the female principal had not agreed. Next came the guy who had tried to make up with his wife after a fight by cleaning the kitchen. When his wife came home with groceries, she found him sitting in the middle of the tile floor complaining of dizziness. Turns out he had mixed ammonia and bleach in order to clean said floor. His wife did not find his attempts at reconciliation very bright, to say the least. Where did these men come from?

Allison's mood had not been improved by all this considering that she had gotten no sleep the night before. Even now, as looked at the abysmal selection in the cafeteria, she still wondered what she was going to do. She couldn't for the life of her figure out what House was up to, but she knew she still had to figure out a way to beat him.

After ordering a grilled reuben with extra pickles, Allison turned to find a seat and saw the answer to her prayers instead.

A familiar female face was sitting at a table by herself in the corner, an extra chair across from her just calling out to Cameron. Allison, the former cheerleader, had to tamp down the urge to do a standing backflip for joy. She took a deep breath and walked across the room.

She gently set her tray down on the table as the woman looked up with well-bred surprise. Allison held out her hand and introduced herself. "Mrs. O'Bryan? I'm Dr. Allison Cameron, a member of the Diagnostics Department. May I join you?"

Catherine O'Bryan nodded and introduced herself properly. "I'm just waiting for my husband. He's in a meeting with …" She stopped and looked at Allison with a question on her face.

"With my department. Yes, I know." She opened her water as she quickly thought out her next move. "I thought, though, that it would be a good idea if one of us spoke to you as well. It seems to me, if I may be blunt, Mrs. O'Bryan, you have quite a bit to do with your husband charities."

Mrs. O'Bryan, who had more than quite a bit to do with her husband's charities, replied, "Yes, but if I may be blunt Dr. Cameron, shouldn't you be upstairs with your department?"

Thank God Allison had just taken a bite of the disgusting sandwich (what the hell had she ordered?) because she needed the time to come up with a good answer for that one. She smiled. "Yes, normally I would be, but all of the hospital's doctors also work in the clinic, as I'm sure you know. I had hours to fulfill before our meeting with your husband, and my patients turned out to be more challenging than normal." She took another bit and got a mouthful of sauerkraut. She gritted her teeth to keep from shivering. How could he even eat these things cold?

"So why aren't you running up to join in the meeting?"

Allison smiled knowingly. "Quite frankly, Mrs. O'Bryan, I was not in the mood to deal with four men battling over patient loads, billing hours, and departmental goals. I saw you here and thought that I might be more use to my department by speaking to you." Catherine raised a single eyebrow, and Allison realized that may have come off too brazen, so she quickly pressed on. "The press portrays you as the face of your husband's charitable efforts. I would venture to guess that you're the brains behind them, too."

"If I were 'the brains' as you put it, why wouldn't I be upstairs in the meeting with my husband and your colleagues instead of sitting here in the cafeteria?"

"Well, I seriously doubt that my colleagues are telling your husband anything that he didn't already know. He hasn't become as successful as he is without knowing whom he is going up against." Allison saw a ghost of smile on the older woman's face. She couldn't tell what kind of smile it was, though, so she fought down the urge to run very quickly away and continued, "As for the cafeteria, you are sitting here in this back corner so that you can watch the comings and goings of the staff and patients aren't you?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Talking to this young lady was a lot more fun that the brunch she had been forced to go to with the board members. Being the behind-the-scenes brains of her husband's charitable giving foundation was deadly boring sometimes.

"What better place to judge the atmosphere and attitudes of the hospital? Here you can see the staff's interaction and the patients' and their families' comfort levels." Allison paused. "Have you been for a walk in the courtyard yet? Not only can you observe the staff and patients, but the Physical Therapy department frequently uses it for exercises and medical students use it for a place to study as well."

"No, I don't believe that was a part of the tour." Catherine lied. She was fully smiling now. "Why don't you take me out there and we can continue our chat." She stood and pushed in her chair.

Allison rose more slowly as she held her breath to keep from laughing out loud. She was going to put really big loops on House's Gs when she signed him up for clinic hours.

OOOO

James Wilson walked into House's office to see how things had gone. The sight that met him was a little scary. Chase and Foreman looked like they had just lost the state championship in the last two seconds of the game and House was staring at the phone on his desk.

"I take it things didn't go well?" On one hand he wanted to yell at House for screwing this up, on the other hand, Cameron hadn't had her chance yet. That little bit of hope had Wilson going to the conference room to drag another chair in. He wanted first row seats for this.

"Conference room looks bad. Didn't go well, huh?" He repeated.

His best friend looked up at him from his meditation on the phone. "Why would you think that?"

"Told her yet?"

"Do you see her yet?"

"Nope. Thought maybe she was on her way."

"I need to page her."

"So…?"

"Don't you have dying patients or tumors to poke or something?" House went back to looking at the phone.

"You know that phone won't page her all by itself."

Foreman finally showed signs of life. "Can I assume you're talking about Cameron?"

"Got it one. No wonder you're a doctor." House's hand slowly moved toward the phone.

"I don't know what you did, but just page her for God's sake. Having her here can't be as bad as it is right now."

"Shows how much you know. Maybe you shouldn't be a doctor." House snatched up the phone and stabbed the buttons with his finger. "Anyone want to time her?"

Wilson laughed. "I bet she makes you page her twice."

House glared. This was going to be ugly.

OOOO

Allison Cameron made her boss page her three times before she made her way to his office. If he had managed to charm Mr. O'Bryan, she didn't want to come running so he could, well, be himself. If he hadn't been successful, she wanted him to sweat.

Besides, she was having a lovely time talking to Catherine O'Bryan. She was an intelligent woman who asked all the right questions. Not only had Allison managed to discuss her own department with her, she had also slipped in her concerns about the needs that the neonatal intensive care unit had. Nothing like besting your boss and throwing in a few thoughts about your pet cause as well.

When she got to the hallway leading to House's office, she stopped, straightened her lab coat, checked her hair in a window, and reapplied her lipstick. Prom queens knew how to make an entrance, even more so than billionaires.

She strode in the door and took in the four men sitting there. Things had not gone well apparently. But she asked anyway. Had to do that.

"How does it look like things went? Can't you see the champagne and the streamers. Quiet Riot should be here at any moment to kick off the celebration."

Oh, he was pissed and she was loving it. She tried really hard to remember the importance of what was going on, but damned if that wasn't next to impossible. Let the fun commence.

"So, why did you page me?" Wilson snorted and Cameron glanced at him. House must have told him what was going on. Good, someone else to rub it in.

"Pardon me?" House turned his chair towards her.

"Why did you page me?"

"You know why."

"No, I really don't. I was enjoying a nice leisurely stroll when you paged me."

"Three times I paged you."

"Was it only three? Gosh, I was going to hold out for four."

Chase and Foreman had sat up a little straighter and glanced at each other. Each of them seemed to be asking the other what the hell was going on, but neither of them wanted to get mixed up in it. House and Cameron had their own way of communicating that bordered on disturbed. They silently agreed to stay out of it.

Wilson, however, was watching with sick interest. "Anyone have any popcorn?"

"Shut up." House stood up and came around to the front of his desk. "You're not seriously going to make me tell you why I paged you."

"Oh, I seriously am. I'm just glad that these guys are here already because I was going to page them myself if they weren't."

They glared at each other.

House clutched the handle of his cane in his fists. He looked down and then back up at her. Very slowly, but clearly (he didn't want to have to repeat himself), "We were not successful with Mr. O'Bryan. We will need you to find an opportunity to speak with him."

"Why?"

Wilson chuckled. "Crawl, crawl, crawl."

"Because you may be able to get through to him where we could not." He was speaking through his clenched teeth and was about two seconds from hitting something with the cane – preferably Wilson, who was not content to sit there quietly. Luckily for Frick and Frack they were smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Allison considered telling him about her chat with Mrs. O'Bryan, but thought she would save that little tidbit for later. "Sooo, you need me to turn on the prom queen charm."

"Yes."

"Well, now." She paused. "I supposed I could do that." Her voice became very businesslike and she began walking around the office. She looked into the conference room and shook her head. She pulled Chase's lab coat and tie from a stack of books and handed it to him. Then she walked right up to House, who had not released his death grip on the cane. "I suppose I could do that at the charity gala tomorrow night."

He snarled.

"Of course I will need the day off tomorrow." If the look on his face was any indication, she would be the cane's next target. She crossed her arms in the universal symbol for "I'm not giving an inch on this."

"Why the hell would you need tomorrow off?"

"Why, Dr. House, it takes effort to be a prom queen. It takes effort, time, and money."

"I'm not giving you any money."

"I didn't ask for money, I asked for the day off."

"Fine."

"Good."

Lisa Cuddy chose that moment to walk in. Luckily, the men in the room looked a little more alive than they had earlier. "So how did it go?"

Everyone was quiet. Then Cameron stepped in. "I'm not going to lie. It's still going. I'm going to talk to Mr. O'Bryan on my own tomorrow night at the gala. I think I'll be more successful in a different atmosphere."

"You mean you'll probably be more successful without Mr. Personality here butting in." Cuddy nodded. "Well, I would prefer this to be over now, but if you're sure you want to try that go ahead. Can't hurt to turn on some charm, but don't screw this up." She nodded again and walked out.

"Smooth," admired Wilson.

"Yeah, well, I could get in as much trouble as he could you know." Allison pointed at her boss. Figuring that she had gloated enough for the moment, she decided to finish him off tomorrow night. She started to walk out the door, then stopped and turned back around. "By the way, I'm scheduled for eight every morning next week in the clinic. I'll just stop down and put your name in for mine before I leave." She walked out.

Chase and Foreman suddenly found the energy to hop up and beat it out of there, too. They still didn't understand what they had just seen, but they really wanted to stay in the dark.

Wilson stayed in his seat. He looked at House, whose chin had dropped to his chest and whose eyes were closed.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Sand fleas and jellyfish." Damn tropical island.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House, but I'd be happy to share with the people who do.

**A/N:** This is the last chapter of my first fanfic ever. Thanks again to the reviewers; you've made this more fun than I thought it would be. Now that I know the truth…well, I may have found a better way to spend department meetings.

OOOO

On the day of the gala, Greg House received no less than three visits from Lisa Cuddy and five from James Wilson. Cuddy used her first visit to ask House why Cameron wasn't at work that day. She got no response. On the second visit, she wanted to know if he had dug his tux out of hiding. He growled at her. On the third visit, she opened her mouth and he threw his Magic Eight Ball at her. She did not return.

Wilson, who was much better at dealing with House (perhaps because he had better reflexes), used his first visit to try to be a good friend and simply ask how House was doing after Thursday's fiasco. House gestured rudely. On the second visit, he checked to see if House wanted lunch – "Bite me" was his answer. The next two visits, Wilson simply looked at House and laughed. On the fifth visit, he was surprised to see that House had barely moved and was still pushing buttons on his Gameboy. Wilson just said, "Man, you've got it bad, " and walked away.

House sighed for what felt like the four hundredth time that week and stood up to go home. A tux. A prom queen. God help him.

OOOO

Allison Cameron, on the other hand, had had an absolutely fun day. As she walked into the ballroom in Princeton where the gala was being held, she felt great. Loaded for bear. Top of the world. Nauseous.

This really, really wasn't her style. She had spent a good portion of her life fighting to avoid moments like this. There was actually a stupid staircase that she had to descend to the party. She supposed some women dreamed about a moment like this. Not her. The only staircase she had ever dreamed about was… well, she had never dreamed about a staircase. Who the hell dreamed about staircases? Who in their right mind would actually want to try to float down an enormous staircase while a room full of their colleagues and rich charity-supporting types watched?

Deep breath. Okay, focus on the fun of the day. Using the emergency credit card to pamper herself at a pricy spa; using the same credit card to purchase the dress, the accessories, the shoes…the same damned shoes she was teetering on at that very moment and which would no doubt cause her to fall down these stupid stairs. Deeper breath. Positive thoughts.

"Are you waiting for someone to announce you? There don't seem to be any footmen around."

Allison turned, about to let fly with a nasty comment. And saw James Wilson smiling at her.

"Sorry about that. Thought a House-like comment might bring you back to earth."

"Thanks, I think." She focus on him. "Looking pretty spiffy, there, Dr. Wilson." She smiled. He was in a perfectly tailored tux and perfectly shined shoes. He looked like an ad for a men's formal wear shop.

"Thanks, although I think that I'm being upstaged a bit. Where the hell did you find that dress?" was what he said. What he was thinking was, Greg, my friend, you are in _a lot_ of trouble.

"We prom queens have our secrets." She smiled serenely and batted her eyelashes at him.

He laughed, "Well, your majesty, let me walk down these stairs with you. Chase's date wiped out three steps down. Wouldn't want to see the same thing happen to you."

When they reached the foot of the stairs, he let go of her elbow. "So as the resident prom queen, are you going to spend the evening simpering and smiling prettily?" He looked at her with a harder question in his eyes.

She understood. "No, lucky for us, this prom queen also happens to be the valedictorian. I'll be spending the evening convincing a billionaire to hand over a few hundred million." She looked down at her very expensive shoes. Hopefully, she thought.

He nodded. "And in the process…?" She looked back up.

"And in the process, if I should happen to bring a certain doctor to his knees, that would just be dandy." She grinned and winked at him.

As she turn to leave him, he stopped her. "He's pretty far down there already, you know."

She didn't respond to that. She just continued on her way to the bar.

OOOO

How stupidly clichéd could this entire evening be? Here he was in a tux (well, sort of, no tie but his shirt was tucked in), sitting by himself at a table directly across from that ridiculous staircase that was not cane-friendly, watching his best friend escort the beautiful girl into the party. It was almost as bad as those teen movies that were on cable every other hour. Of course the worse part of it was that he was a forty-five year old man who by all accounts was pretty intelligent, yet he had gotten himself into this mess.

He had already tried to leave, but Cuddy had stopped him with a few threats to his anatomy. She mentioned the oil again, too. He had snarked about fetishes that she needed to deal with, and she had called him a word that he would need to look up when he got home. Wilson had sidled up to him and led him to the table where he had been sitting for several minutes now. "Behave," was the last thing his friend had said.

And now, if it weren't bad enough, headed directly for him was Cuddy herself with Donald O'Bryan and a woman whom House could only assume was his wife. He stood up (his mother really had tried with him), and attempted to work up a smile. He could think of a few dozen other things he would rather be doing than meeting with the billionaire bastard again, but he supposed that since he was there he might as well see how this played out. He wondered when Cameron would show up to do her thing, whatever that would be.

Donald O'Bryan never got the chance to introduce his wife to House. She did it herself, which for some reason surprised him. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Dr. House."

House heard Cuddy groan quietly.

"Well, I suppose that might not be a good thing," House replied, looking at her husband.

"No, I suppose not, but my husband rarely has good things to say about anyone." Cuddy let out one of those polite, yet pathetic sounding laughs. "Where is the rest of your team?"

He was biting his tongue to keep from saying that it wasn't his turn to babysit, when Foreman and Chase walked up, minus their dates. Chase, who had grown up dealing with scenarios like this, took the lead and smoothly introduced himself and Foreman. James Wilson, minus his wife, scooted up next and was disgustingly polite as well.

House seriously wanted to get the hell out of this mess. He didn't want to stand there and suck up to these people. If these people were going to give the hospital money, then they should just do it and quit jerking everyone around. He moved a bit to the side. Maybe if he moved slowly enough, he could eventually leave and no one would notice.

"Don't even think you're going to get out of here," said Wilson.

"Oh, hell. Leave me alone."

"Shut up, the show's about to start." Wilson nodded to their left at a calmly approaching Allison Cameron.

As Allison moved toward the group, she reminded herself that she had a card up her sleeve that House knew nothing about. Yes, she also reminded herself that she may be the last hope for the hospital's relationship with the O'Bryans, after all, she was still a conscientious and too-caring person. But in the seconds that it took her to walk toward her colleagues, she was enjoying House's reaction to her a little too much to be concerned about the money. He really should blink. That wasn't good for his eyes.

She had a genuine smile on her face when she looked away from him and instead at Mrs. O'Bryan. She held out her hand, "Mrs. O'Bryan! It's so good to see you again."

"Dr. Cameron! Donald, this is the young woman I was telling you about. Dr. Cameron this is my husband, Donald O'Bryan."

What the hell? House looked at Wilson, who was glued to the unfolding scene. He looked at Cuddy who was smiling and ignoring him. He was even desperate enough for an explanation to look at Foreman and Chase, but Chase appeared oblivious and Foreman just shrugged at him.

After a some pleasantries, Donald O'Bryan offered Cameron his arm and led her to the dance floor. "I'd really like to talk to you Dr. Cameron. Get your views on the hospital's needs."

"I'd be delighted." And she walked away with him.

Chase, who had had ballroom manners instilled in him from the crib, invited Mrs. O'Bryan to dance. The other four doctors sank down into chairs around the table.

"What just happened here?" House asked Wilson.

"Don't you _know_ what just happened here, Dr. House?" interrupted Cuddy, suddenly a little nervous. "I would think you should know damn well what a member of your department…"

"Get off the dominatrix kick for a second and don't interrupt me." House looked back at Wilson. "What has she done?"

"Pretty obvious, I think."

"Yep," agreed Foreman. "She has succeeded where we failed."

Cuddy jumped back in. "What are you talking about?" She was getting a little red in the face.

House ignored her. He watched Cameron and O'Bryan dancing with an intense look.

Wilson pacified Cuddy. "Don't worry about it. I'm about ninety-nine percent sure that we are going to get the money."

"But…"

"House is just surprised to see that social skills really do count for something occasionally. Let's go get a drink. I think you could use one." He led her away.

Foreman, who was less likely than most people to practice self-preservation, looked at his boss. "Are you going to explain what has been going on for the past two days?"

"No, and if you ask me again, I'll make sure you get every clinic case that begins with the words 'explosive' or 'infected' for a month." He was still watching the dancers.

"Hmm. Well, that's okay. I'll just ask Cameron; she always spills." He notice how intensely House was staring at the couple, who were still talking and dancing. "Anyone ever tell you that you're an idiot?"

"Not without losing their job."

Eric nodded. "Guess I'll go find my date then." He stood and walked behind House. He patted him on the shoulder and added, "I wouldn't stay out too late. I hear Cameron's got you signed up for clinic hours really early Monday."

OOOO

Wilson had been right. At some point in the evening – it really doesn't matter when – Donald and Catherine O'Bryan joined Lisa Cuddy and a few board member on the stage where Mrs. O'Bryan announced that the O'Bryan Charitable Giving Foundation would be presenting the hospital with an obscene amount of money. She hadn't actually used that word, but that's what the PPTH grapevine called it Monday morning.

When the announcement was over and the applause had died down, Cuddy breathed for the first time in weeks and headed straight for a shot of some top shelf liquor. People who had been fearing for their jobs also relaxed, including the ducklings, who had each secretly been updating their CVs.

House had even relaxed a bit, helped, of course, by his dear friend, Vicodin. He stayed in the back of the room and watched people dance and talk. Actually, he watched Cameron dance and talk She was definitely the belle of the ball (where had that come from?) having danced with every man there – or at least it seemed like it.

House tore his eyes away from her to watch Jim fighting with his wife. Nothing new there. Wouldn't be a party unless Julie got pissy. Of course, it wouldn't be a party unless Jim pissed Julie off first. While he was musing on his friend's marital woes, he missed Cameron leaving the dance floor.

He did not miss the bottle of champagne that clunked down in front of him or the two glasses that followed or the immunologist who had put them there.

He looked over as she reached down to pop her shoes off. Not the most ladylike pose she had ever struck, but then at this point in the evening she really didn't care.

"Could you please pour while I try to revive my feet?"

Confused, but not unhappily, he reached for the bottle. "You always wear heels, those shouldn't bother you."

"I always wear two inch heels. These," she held up a pair of spiky sea green sandals that matched her dress, "are four inches. Much different. Much more pain."

"Much more stupid, if you ask me." He handed her a glass.

"I didn't. Besides, we can't all wear black Nikes with our formal wear." She took in his tux, which consisted of the traditional pants, shirt, and jacket but was missing the tie. The shirt had come untucked and the neck of a black t-shirt was showing through the top.

"True, but we can't all be Wilson either."

"Would you want to be him right now? Did you see the way Julie dragged him out of here?"

No response necessary. Everyone had seen that. The two sat there for a few minutes in silence, drinking champagne.

"We got the money." She started.

"Yep."

"So, what was the point?" This question was the reason she had brought over the champagne. Liquid courage.

"Well, without the money, we would be out of jobs, then who would be around to cure sick people? It could be another plague. Typhoid even."

She sighed. She should have gone with the whiskey. "No, what was the point of all the crap you put me through?"

He kept his eyes on the glass in front of him. "Would you believe that I let my mouth run away from me?"

"Definitely, but that doesn't answer my question."

Silence.

She didn't try to fill it. She just waited.

Then, "You need to stand up for yourself, Allison. You need to fight to get what you want because if you don't, you are never going to reach the levels you could in this field. You have the brains, but not the balls."

"Well, I won't argue with that, but what you're saying, _Greg_, is that I have room for improvement."

"What? Yes, of course you do. You're too nice, too willing to back down. It pisses me off when I have watch you act like you don't know what you're doing or like you're some naïve first year med student who has never seen yucky stuff." His voice had gotten progressively louder and people were keeping far away from their table.

"So by goading me and generally treating me like crap, you are doing me a favor."

"I guess that's one way of putting it." He shrugged, but had a vague sense of unease. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

"I see." She paused. "You're trying to _fix_ me." She looked directly at him on the last two syllables.

Bam! That sense of unease was no longer vague. It was full-blown, squirming discomfort.

"Boy, you planned that one well, didn't you?" He rooted around in his pockets for his pill bottle.

"Nope, you handed it to me all by yourself." She noticed that his bottle was empty. "Strange, though, don't you think?"

"That I'm still sitting here. Yes, I have to say so." He tossed the bottle onto the table where it rolled over and stopped against the champagne.

"No, I think it's strange that two doctors would both have some pathological need to fix other people. God, what must we be thinking?" Her gaze held steady on him.

"If you're going to throw my words back in my face, at least have the decency to remember that I accused you of _attaching_ yourself to people who need to be fixed. I haven't done that."

"Haven't you?"

Silence. Quite a long stretch of silence.

Time for a change of topic. "Did you recognize Mrs. O'Bryan from the internet?"

"Mmm-hmm. Saw her in the cafeteria during my break from the clinic. Ambushed her." Allison looked at the bottle of champagne and decided not to have anymore. She was confused enough.

"Impressed her, you mean." He paused. "We wouldn't have gotten the money unless you had done that."

"I don't know about that. Her husband can't stand you, but he doesn't really make the decisions when it…" She stopped. He was glaring at her. "What?"

Still glaring.

"Oh, fine. I am the sole reason the hospital does not have to shut down. If not for me, we would all be standing in the unemployment line come Monday morning. I am brilliant and cunning and know how to use my tiara to its full advantage."

"Better." He poured her more champagne. She didn't stop him.

"So, where is this tiara?"

"In a box in my parent's basement. Why?"

"Where's your valedictory medal?" She looked surprised. "Wilson told me," he explained.

"Oh. Um… same box, I think. Why? Do you need proof?"

"No, I need more fodder for my fantasies."

She had nothing to say, but her face was suddenly crimson.

"One final question."

"Okay…"

"What is your opinion of tropical, preferably deserted, islands?"

She cleared her throat. "Would I need to bring the tiara or the medal?"

"Nope. Not unless you wanted to." He grinned at her.

"Then I could definitely get into them."

"Excellent."

OOOO

On Monday morning there was a bottle of cooking oil on House's desk. The sticky note attached to it said, in Lisa Cuddy's handwriting,

_I don't know what you were up to on Friday, but I do know that I have a case of this with your name on it. Just give me a reason. Please._


End file.
